


Bondson Burner

by beautifullyheeled, stephrc79



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A writing exercise. Plot driven improv, if you will.</p><p>Post Reichenbach, James Bond comes to the aid of one of his oldest friends in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beautifullyheeled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beautifullyheeled

Deep in the darkened corridors it was silent. The solo light created a halo round the last station on the right. A single figure sat on the raised seat, hands to face, elbows rested on the unforgiving steel countertop.

The phone was silent beside him, rested on top of the ruined woolen plaid scarf. The identification disks secured, once again, around his neck reclaimed as his own.

The steps were metered in a slow, constant pace. Only one person would dare come to him at this moment. Of course he had been alerted, it made sense.

“James.” The name uttered huskily weathered from the earlier strain of the day. Like too much inhaled smoke and too tannic wine bitter on his tongue.

It was not the name he wished to have spill from his lips. No, that name might never be spoken again except in quiet desperation of his now broken heart.

“John,” Bond crossed to him. “I am here to help.”


	2. stephrc79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written by stephrc79

It had been years since Bond had last seen John. What seemed like lifetime and a couple battlefields ago. And not just the battlefields of far-away lands, where blood ran free and comrades fell around them like weeds on a high wind. But the battlefield of home, of their London.

“How, exactly, can you help?” John turned, sharp eyes boring into Bond. “My- my best friend- Sherlock, he’s…” John stumbled, his world crumbling around him. As Bond watched his old mate fall apart, the back of his mind was vaguely ticking through the stages of grief. Which one was this? Honestly, he couldn’t give a rats-arse.

Bond was not one for overt displays of emotion or affection, at least not when there wasn’t some sort of end-game. But this time… this was different. He crossed the room in three quick strides, spun John out of his chair and wrapped his arms around his second oldest friend in the world, giving John the lifeline he needed to come undone.

Bond held onto John with crushing force. As John gave into the overwhelming grief of the day, both men stumbled until they ended up seated on the floor.

As John’s sobs subsided, Bond leaned back, still gripping tightly to John’s shoulders. His eyes traveled over John’s face, “Better?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” John responded, not meeting Bond’s eyes. “Just give me a sec.” John quickly composed himself and turned to lean back against the cabinet doors behind them. “I didn’t send for you.”

“I know you didn’t.” Bond said, himself turning to lean back, as well. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need me, don’t even pretend you don’t. What’s past is past, but right now, this is where you need me to be.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”


	3. beautifullyheeled

The past was indeed their past. This- No, this was a fresh level of Hell that John had never imagined. He had lost comrades in the field, fellow men-at-arms that he barely knew their last names as he was wrist deep in their guts trying desperately to patch them enough for evac. Calming those he knew were walking twilights he had yet to see on his own horizon. 

None of that compared.

“What do we know? Is there any intel?” John spoke in a subdued tone, finally meeting Bond’s eyes unashamed of what might been seen within his own. This was rage and bile bitter emptiness threatening to consume him. His whole bloody heart screamed vengeance, yet he was tempered as if his body no longer understood the basic principles of inertia. 

He itched for the feel of the cool weight of his gun in his hands. John took a desperately deep shuddering breath and ran his hands over his face exhaling slowly with vigilance that was nothing more than a facade. “Please tell me we have chatter.”

Please tell me I still have purpose was left unsaid.


	4. stephrc79

Bond didn’t know how connected John was these days. As an army doctor, he’d had a higher level of clearance than most, but it had been years since then. What he did know was that John’s friend in question, Sherlock Holmes, was the brother of that ass-clown (M’s words, not his) who worked with the PM, Mycroft Holmes. He really was the only person Bond had ever seen to truly draw out M’s ire. At least someone who also worked for Queen and Country.

Bond had a decision to make: Share what he knew and potentially commit treason if it all went to shit, or close John out and deal with the situation himself. Alec had warned him that bringing a civilian into this would most likely end badly for all parties involved, but John wasn’t truly a civilian. Not really. Making up his mind, he turned to John.

“Well, that depends,” he said, his eyes going hard. “Have you ever heard of a man by the name of Sebastian Moran?”


	5. beautifullyheeled

The name was roughly familiar, but he had left the bleached sands and scorching heat of the Afghanistan desert behind him two years previous. He rifled through memories that felt as if they belonged to someone else, sifting back to the time before Sherlock. John could vaguely see the edges of it, some Colonel had gotten into a rough and tumble because of his commanding officers lack of forethought. Lost men too if he remembered properly.

“Wasn’t he involved in that mess in Chariasab in 2010?”

God, that whole thing had been a fiasco, Bond thought. A British journalist and the troops he had been imbedded with were massacred, well at least on paper that is what had occurred. The journalist had actually been an operative the mujahideen had been tipped to. In the end, the leak was never found, the 9th Lancers had suffered heavy loss, and someone needed to pay the piper.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Bond finally replied, choosing his words as carefully as ever. “Col. Moran was directly under Roberts at the time. Got an SNLR when his ‘resignation’ transpired.”

“What does Moran have to do with this though? This, all of this,” John gesticulated wildly. “was that madman’s fault!”

The doctor kicked the metal door across from where he was sitting with a vengeance. Fuck Moriarty, even if he was on the table one over from-  
No, not going there. 

Fuck Moriarty for involving them, for lying to everybody about Sherlock, for manipulating their friends for chrissakes. At least John knew Mycroft had Sherlock’s phone and was trying to decrypt the information held on it. He found himself praying that his friend had left them breadcrumbs to follow to take the bastard’s web down.


	6. stephrc79

Bond wasn’t immediately sure how to respond to John. With all of the death and destruction he had seen – and caused – in his life, he knew grief, but this hit too close to home. What would he do if he lost Alec? More importantly, what would he do if Alec had killed himself? It would be the absolute end of him. Not that that was the case here, though, but John didn’t know that and, right now, he couldn’t. 

Bond steeled himself before answering, “If you remember, Moran was one of the best marksman we knew. He was responsible for more remote takedowns than several units combined. You didn’t hear this, but he had a higher kill rate that even Kyle. No one knows, though, because of the Chariasab incident. But before that, he was everyone’s shiny new toy. Our guys wanted him, both MI5 and MI6. Hell, even the SEALs tried recruiting him. Well, after his discharge, Moriarty recruited him almost immediately. He rose quickly, and by the end of it all, he was actually Moriarty’s right hand.” Bond looked at John from the corner of his eye. “He was there today, John. He saw the whole bloody thing go down.”

John’s flinched before his expression went flat, “What do you mean, he was there?” John said, rubbing his hands over his face and threw his hair. He turned back to Bond, “James, please. What are you not telling me?”

Bond placed a hand on John’s knee, looking him directly in the eye. For a fleeting moment, he remembered a time when this gesture meant something different, something more. But now wasn’t the time for past regrets. “He had a gun on you, John. If Sherlock didn’t jump, he was ordered to take you out.”


	7. beautifullyheeled

“Take me out?” John was thanking God he was on the floor already otherwise they would have become fast friends. “Assassinate me if Sherlock didn’t- wouldn’t-”

He tried to school his expression once again, but found he couldn’t give a tit about it. This was Bond, _fuck all, this was James_ ; if there was anyone he could go to pieces with it was him. Sherlock had, after everything, went and martyred himself for John. That supreme idiot, as if John’s life would even be bearable after watching his best friend suicide, knowing this just layered the guilt even heavier on his already laden heart.

“You know, my last- the last thing I said to him face to face was to insult him. I was just fed up, I thought Mrs. Hudson was bleeding out in our flat, having caught a bullet that had been meant for one of us you know. They called me. That fucking twat- he must have arranged it. Sher- Sherlock didn’t want me here to stop him. He well knew he was going up there to _die_!”

Leave it to his beautiful idiot to sacrifice now, just after-

“How long? Sherlock knew this was coming didn’t he? Is that why-” John choked back the guttural cry threatening to rip through him. No. Emotionally, he couldn’t accept that being the reason for two nights ago. Logically though, especially after being in a war zone, understanding _those_ dynamics, he knew now Sherlock had been saying goodbye just as John was finally letting go to _trust_ again and welcome the madcap genius into his life fully.

The last person he had fully trusted was now sitting next to him, waiting to be whatever was necessary at this moment for John.

“James,” John looked up, wrecked and tumbled with fierce determination. “Help me get this son of a bitch. Anyone else besides Mycroft we can bring in on this?”

That arse could float tits-up in the Thames for all he helped Sherlock. No, James had back channels, John knew that.

Question was now whether or not Bond still trusted John.


	8. stephrc79

Bond’s phone rang, startling both men. When he saw the caller ID, he got up and, throwing an apologetic look towards John, walked to the other side of the room.

“Miss me already? You dropped me off not ten minutes ago”

“Just making sure you aren’t dead. Today has already proven to be a total fuck-all, no need to add to the body count,” Alec replied, his words humorous, masking the underlying tension Bond could feel through the phone. Twenty years of fighting, fucking, pulling girls, and killing for Queen and Country could do that to a pair like them.

“Not dead. Not yet, anyway. Besides, it’s just John. He’s not likely to drive a knife into my side. This isn’t Kabul.”

“Hey. She was worth it.”

“So says the scar on my side.” Bond said smiling, turning his back on John. If anyone could bring Bond back from the dark place, it was Alec. It was always Alec. Too bad John no longer had his ‘Alec’.

Another regret slipping away.

Bond could hear Alec’s pause on the other end, his best friend stealing himself to say what needed to be said, “James, why are you there? I get that John is important. Even I owe him a debt after Sudan, but you haven’t talked to him in, god, how long? This isn’t even MI6 territory. It’s MI5, at best. And besides, we both know that insufferable bastard isn’t even dead. John will find that out soon enough and this whole thing won’t be of any concern to us.”

“For the simple reason, Alec, that if it were either of us, we would have _no one_ to pick up the pieces. If either of us goes, the other one won’t be far behind. I can’t let that happen to John, especially knowing what we know. What do you think would happen if you – quote/unquote – died, only to come back and learn I’d gone out in a blaze of glory thinking you were gone?” Bond closed his eyes at the horrifying image, “What would that do to _you_?”

The silence was more than deafening.

“So, then, how do you plan on holding him together?”

“By helping him take down the bastard responsible for this mess,” and with that, Bond hung up on Alec and walked back, dropping back down on John’s side.


	9. beautifullyheeled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beautifullyheeled

John nodded curtly tightening his lips as James stood to take the call. Maybe it was Mycroft, the bastard did have some sort of sixth-sense about when his name came up in a room.  His head came to rest on the smooth steel as he closed his eyes breathing deeply.

 _Hours, it had only been hours_ , John reminded himself. _If there was anyone who could track even the most subtle movements it was Bond._

The two of them knew the game well together, but Bond knew it like it was inscribed on the interior of his veins, as intimately as he knew his own skin. That man was a complete walking miracle man the things he had done and lived to tell the tale. John had been along for the ride a couple of times with the 030 SFU officer, _knew_ there was more to that story.

He also knew when not to pry.

The first time they had returned from patrol where Bond had been ‘in-tow’ John had broke cover to take out a sniper that had pinned his company down. He had pulled John to his quarters and questioned his sanity even then. John had described it as ‘a willingness to ignore situational risks’ which was very true then, still as now.

This situation held risks but here he was 37, still not married, no children. No one to leave behind. No one to mourn him. John could shoulder the risks all on his own, all he needed was his pistol, a rifle with a good scope, and a good spotter. That bastard Moran had better have tucked his tail and ran, because if he was still in their city, John would make sure he didn’t see another sunrise. From there, well he could wait to decide the minutia later.


	10. stephrc79

“Mycroft?”

“Alec, actually. Wanted to make sure I was still of the living. He says hi, by the way.”

“Good God, how is Alec?” John asked, brows knitted, remembering, “He’s still alive? Of course he is, you're still alive. How are you both still alive?”

“An absolute and utter refusal to stay dead, I imagine,” Bond smirked. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this to a doctor,” Bond gestured vaguely in John’s direction, “But we tend to avoid Medical, on the grounds that we’re both fairly convinced that the next time we set foot in there, lab experiments will commence.”

“You’re right, you probably shouldn’t. As it is, now I have half a mind to send you both to Baskerville... FUCK!” John violently banged his hand again against the metal cabinet, causing Bond to jump to his feet, gun drawn, looking around for the source of the danger. John looked up at him, aghast. “Shit. Shit, James, I’m sorry. It’s just– Baskerville–  God, I’m sorry.” John leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his shins, and rested his forehead on his knees.

When Bond saw no immediate threat, he holstered his gun and squatted down in front of John. “John, look, we’re going to take down this bastard. He may have been Moriarty’s second in command, but he wasn’t Moriarty. The real threat is gone.” Bond gingerly put his hand on John’s chin, tilting his head up. When John finally looked him in the eyes, he went on, “I’m not entirely sure of your relationship with Sherlock, but I do know this; if it had been Alec up there on that roof, I would stop at nothing to make sure they all paid, even if it meant burning the whole fucking world to the ground.”

Bond didn’t want to think about it, but everything he’d heard about the events of today came rushing into his head, except with Alec in Sherlock’s place. He knew that both he and Alec would have found a way out that didn’t involve a suicide – faked or not –  but they were also trained assassins for MI6, not a consulting detective and an ex-army doctor. Sherlock and John didn’t stand a chance. That wasn’t even the worst part of it. How was he supposed to sit here and watch his friend try so desperately hard not to fall to pieces, especially when Bond knew the truth? Sherlock wasn’t dead. Sherlock was just as smart and clever as they all said and he managed to stage this whole shitstorm from beginning to end, executing it perfectly. All the people who needed to believe Sherlock was dead believed it. And that included the people who shouldn’t _have_ to believe it. Sometimes he really hated his fucking job.

After a moment, John pulled away, looking up at the ceiling, “Is that all the information you have on Moran?” John tilted his head back down, giving Bond a hard, assessing look. “Or is there more?”

“There’s more. There’s always more.” Bond replied, giving John a leveled look. There was more he could say, but so much more that he couldn’t.

“Right,” John said, understanding. “Then let’s get to work. I think it’s time you show me just how good an assassin you really are.”


	11. beautifullyheeled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BeautifullyHeeled

"Well, there is only one place to go then," Bond set firmly into a schooled expression. "Looks like it's time to have a little chat with a certain low level government employee. Tell me, do you still have your family's land?"

"My sister holds the deeds and has at least made one right decision in not trying to sell it. Clara loved it there. Sentiment." 

John hadn't been there in ages, the country had held appeal when younger, but London felt like home. Well, had felt until today. The whole life he built gone, but would be remembered.

"Need to go by Baker, kit up. Dunno if I'm quite ready to go ho-, to the flat quite yet. Mind if I kip at yours tonight?"

James would understand, not think lesser of him. God, if he and Alec were sharing...

"James, is Alec going to be home?"

"Funny you should ask; how about I have the bastard play fetch, and seeing as he still owes you have him bring some damn fine vodka. Also, my flat is my own. We decided it was better all the way around."

"Two confirmed bachelors off to raze the world, yea?" The room surrounding them was now just that, a room. A lab full of equipment, all shiny and waiting for use. It was no longer their domain; his domain. John roamed the four walls and its contents one more time as he breathed in the space. "Tell Alec to bring two. Let's do this right."


	12. stephrc79

As they headed out and down the hallway, Bond called Alec again. While the phone rang, he grabbed his pack of cigarettes stashed in his coat pocket. He went to light one, only for John to grab his wrist as the lighter was halfway to his mouth.

“Oi! In case you hadn’t noticed, we are still within the four walls of a hospital. Can’t you at least wait until we’re outside?” John let go of Bond to snatch at the cigarette, only to have Bond turn away out of John’s reach.

“Sod off,” Bond said. “You want me to respect your inner sanctum, fine. But you aren’t taking the bloody things away – hello?” Bond walked out of John’s reach as Alec picked up.

“Looks like _I’m_ not the one doing the missing here, mate. At least I waited a full 10 minutes before I called.”

“Yeah, well, you can sod off. You both can sod off,” Bond looked at John warily out of the corner of his eye as he answered. “Look, we’re in need of some assistance. We need you to grab a bag for John from Baker and bring over a bottle –”

“Two bottles,” John cut in.

“ _Two_ bottles of vodka. It’s a get pissed kind of day.”

Alec huffed on the other end of the line, “Fine for the vodka, but I’m not your fucking man-servant. I get that this is a shit day, but I’m not touching anyone’s boxers over it.”

“Why not? You’d do it for me.” Bond asked, voice even in a way only Alec would hear.

“That’s different,” Alec responded, going quiet. “And you know it.”

“Can’t you just help for once without stomping around about it?” As they walked out the front doors, Bond instantly lit his cigarette.  He was a bit irritated at this point. He loved Alec more than anyone else in the world, but the bastard really had no concept of empathy when it wasn’t for Bond or for a mission. “Besides, you owe the guy.”

“I owe him shit. It was his fucking _job_.”

“Fine, then. You owe me.”

“For _what?_ ”

“Frankfurt.”

Alec didn’t respond for several long moments. “Fuck you.”

“Thanks, Alec.” Bond hated pulling shit like this with Alec, but sometimes it was the only way to get through to him.

“Just text me the sodding address. And I’m bringing three bottles. If I have to go snooping through John’s pants in a dead-but-not-dead guy’s flat, I’m going to need it.” As Alec hung up, Bond turned back to John, only to find him gone. As he looked around, he saw him already waiting by Bond’s car, bouncing slighting, his shoulders tensed and fists tightly clenched. Bond needed to get him out of here and fast.


	13. beautifullyheeled

This was not the night John had wanted to walk out to. It was clear, for one. Eerily calm for two. He understood they had left out one of the numerous access points, but it felt as if this were planned. Possibly James call had also been a signal to clear the way for the grieving party or some bullshit about his PTSD and wanting to make sure all parties were ‘safe’.

Just your nerves, John Watson. Calm the fuck down.

Brighter, the night sky seemed bereft without the visible stars due to pollution from the lights, urban living meant no getting lost in the star fields that blanketed the void. John had only forward motion and the sleek tungsten coloured Aston whose lines looked to be frozen in motion begging to be driven. The feel of the slick exterior beckoned him to touch, he could just imagine what the seats were going to feel like.

Equating the absolute non-danger to his surroundings again, the chemical cocktail in his system screaming at him to be wary. Too quiet, unarmed, his left hand curling reflexively for a rifle that was not there, the walther that he had been relieved of by Lestrade pending his court date and pending other charges which were a massive laundry list of bullshit. Nostrils flared as he inhaled the crisp haze of cigarette that whispered from just a metre away.

Not Sherlock- James. He was with James. James Bond, the arsefucked twat that was one of his closest friends. Who had come tonight, tipped by God knows who, was taking him to his place to get royally pissed until they were sober. He’d lost one of his own tonight, the three of them could commiserate only in the way military personnel could.

Thank Christ for Alec and his vodka, for his putting up with him even though they had only a few scrapes between them; for keeping Bond alive when he wasn’t able to patch him up any longer when shit went pear shaped out in those endless sands. No grit now between his fingers mixed with the bloody gore of that battlefield. Just  there though, under his nail along the sides, it was dried once again.

It was where he had pulled at the curl along the base of Sherlock’s bashed head just wanting nothing more then to feel the silkiness one last time for his own selfish reasons. He would have kissed him, but Molly, Greg, or both would not have understood it would not have been done out of morbidity. He simply wanted to kiss him goodnight, a chaste promise to be continued on every morning they awoke whole together. Ever were supposed to have. John could feel his body giving over to the shock now, the vibration subtle, was beginning to take its toll tightening his shoulders. He clenched hard once, then again.

Just as he relieved the tension by bouncing on the balls of his feet, his flight endorphins taking the lead, Bond was there at his elbow speaking a foreign language while guiding him into the sinfully decadent leather that was perfectly matched for the sex-on-wheels he was being placed into. John lolled his head back to rest as the tears errantly began tracking their previous lines finding the microfine saline trails from the ones shed before.

“Thank you, James.” Words spilled as he finally remembered his native tongue. “Sherlock and I, we were together. Just recently. When they did the autopsy I’m sure they found me everywhere. If luminol covered the full spectrum, he would have looked like a crime scene, my fingerprints, handprints, everything, everywhere. He was very much loved James, at least, I can hope, he knew that.”

Deeply shuddering with a calming sigh, John watches as they maneuver through London, his battlefield now. Once they got to Bond’s he swore to himself to take a blazing shower and eat something, anything. Because he was now in a warzone once again.

He’d need his strength.


	14. stephrc79

Bond dropped his keys in the little bowl on the end table next to the door of his flat and shrugged off his coat. He went to hang it up as John walked in behind him. John stopped just inside the door and stared.

“Jesus Christ, Bond, is this all yours?” John said as he looked around at the spacious open floor plan.

Bond turned an eye on his flat and turned back to John, “Well, when you’re willingly open to killing just about damn near anyone on the planet for your country, they tend to pay you well for it.” Bond gave his home another once over. “Not that it matters, I’m rarely here. Hell, I didn’t even decorate it. Hired some bird to do it for me.” He smirked at the last bit.

John turned and smiled at Bond. “You shagged her, didn’t you?”

Bond just shrugged and smiled back. “Coat?” He held his hand out to John.

“What? Oh yeah.” John took off his coat and handed it to Bond, who hung it next to his in the cabinet. John started walking further in and Bond followed, heading to the couch. “So why bother, then? Why have all this if you have no use for it?” John turned and looked at the kitchen, fully stocked, but completely immaculate and not just a little bit sterile in it’s lack of use. “Hell, I’d lay money you’ve never touched the microwave, let alone cooked a single damned thing in there.”

“Um, coffee and tea, that’s pretty much it,” Bond laughed. John had a point. “I get what you’re saying, but when you spend as much time in the field as I do – have seen the things I’ve seen – you want to come home to some sort of comfort that hasn’t been touched by blood and sand,” Bond said. His smile faded at the idea. That wasn’t really true, either, since he tended to do his own patching up back here instead of at Medical. He didn’t want to think about how many times he’d had to get blood out of the fucking couch.

John sat down in one of the nearby chairs, visibly deflating as he did so. John had said that something was going on between him and Sherlock, but Bond wasn’t sure of the extent of it. Both he and John were fairly fluid in their sexuality, having taken both male and female lovers on at various points in their lives. Hell, they’d been lovers themselves for a short time, but that had fizzled out before either had set foot back on English soil. They were better as friends. But when all was said and done, they both tended to lean towards the female persuasion. Bond’s liaisons with women were the stuff of legend and he had been the one to give John the nickname ‘Three Continents Watson’, no part of which had anything to do with John’s male conquests.

But seeing John so visibly shaken by the events of today, Bond suspected there was more to it than a simple roommate shag. Bond was still sensitive to the idea that if it had been Alec up on that roof, he would probably be reacting the same way – actually worse, and with more violence – so there was always the chance that John’s anguish and underlying rage had everything to do with losing his best friend. But Bond didn’t think so. There was something about John that made Bond believe John had just lost the love of his life. And that pissed Bond right the fuck off.

Whenever Bond actually ran into Sherlock, he might just have to finish the fucking job.


	15. beautifullyheeled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautifullyheeled

Soft material caught his body as he deflated into the chair. The clean, minimalist interior was deceptively soothing to those James hadn’t shared his life with. John though, could see the exacting precision of his friend in all the sleek hard lines belied by the monochromatic gray scale. He may be 'Three Continents Watson', but Bond had him beat by far. The flat was designed with the bed in a place of prominence to allow it too never be exactly out of sight. A lightning storm ran through his thoughts as he erupted with laughter that bordered on hysterical.

“Alright there, John?” Bond had looked over his shoulder with his brow furrowed, concern pass across his face as he closed the liquor hutch having retrieved two tumblers and the bottle of Knappogue. This only furthered the hilarity in John’s mind. He knew he was being rude so he tried to calm to himself and schooled his features.

“You know James,” he began giggling again unable to stop the manic ride he was now on. “There’s a good joke she played on you in here, about _fifty shades_ of them I’d say!”

His friend stilled, stopping the flow of the whiskey he had begun to pour, confusion clear on his face. The pour looked to be three fingers of a bottle that would have set John back a month.

This was just too priceless, too needed; he had to let Bond in on the joke.

“Grey?" A real, short laugh crossed John's lips. "You have at least fifty shades of them! Your little lark had a right sharp sense of humour and even sharper wit to sneak this below <i>your</i> radar James.” John accepted the proffered tumbler and took a deep pull to steady his swiftly falling high. Yanking a tampon and chucking it is never sexy. Par for the course at times, but apparently whomever had written the book had a significant lack of sex during menses. “That ridiculously wrong sex book that, unfortunately, this woman wrote off of her blog or something that became an instantaneous bestseller?”

“Seems like I have some light reading to catch up on.” Bond proffered in response. “Is that why... no- never mind. You know, that’s not a bad idea, after this is all over, writing. You, your stories, hardback editions- didn’t you write back in Afghanistan?”

“I see what you are doing James,” The breath he drew was shaky now from the lack of false reactive endorphins. “I know you don’t give a damn about the mourning process, but thanks for trying. Writing right now isn’t going to help me through my ‘grieving process’." John took a deep breath that shuddered through his body. "Christ he’s really gone. I know that. We’ve seen enough to know not to let it eat at you when things go sideways. I’ll have my time to mourn, but not until every last bastard has paid their pound of flesh James.”

“Which is why tonight we drink and tomorrow we get in contact with individuals about reinstatement of your old clearances and some new ones. If you're going on this su

icide mission, it’s much better to go in knowing as many angles as possible.”

The honeyed-vanilla warmth of the whiskey finally relaxing the tension that had been gripping him a bit more, John inhaled deeply for the first time in hours. His glass tipped in a small salute to Bond, he gave a quick tight smile in recognition of just how far his friend was willing to go before he drained the tumbler, flipping it and placing it rim down on the table.


	16. stephrc79

Bond barely had time to register the lock turning in the front door before it flew open, slamming against the wall. For the second time that night, Bond was on his feet, gun drawn, only this time he now had it pointed directly at Alec’s head.

“You know, one these times I will shoot you when you do that,” Bond said, holstering his gun as he walked toward Alec, who was carrying three shopping bags in his left hand and an overnight bag under right arm, so he could open the door. “And I make no promises that it won’t be an accident.”

Alec snorted at Bond. “No you won’t. You hate paperwork as much as I do and M will bury you in it out of spite.” Kicking the door shut behind him, Alec dropped the overnight bag and passed off the shopping bags to Bond. “And we both know just how big of a bitch she can be when she’s cross.”

“True,” Bond said, heading into the kitchen, “but, then again, she always loved me more than she loved you. She’ll probably thank me for it.” He dropped the bags on the counter and took out the bottles of vodka – Alec really had brough three – to let a couple chill in the freezer. Taking the third bottle, he walked over to the hutch and grabbed three fresh glasses down before heading back to the couch. Alec, meanwhile, was busying himself taking off his coat and hanging it up, obviously avoiding John. Bond looked over at him and sighed. Alec never did well at handling grief, especially when it came to one of their own. It also didn’t help that both he and Alec knew Sherlock wasn’t actually dead. Bond waited another 30 seconds before saying something. “Alec! Stop being a sodding prat and get in here.”

Alec gave Bond a blithering look before heading in. As he came over, John stood up to say hello, but as Alec stood in front of him, both men stalled.

“It’s been a long – “

“It’s really good to see – “

“I”m sorry to hear about – “

“I can’t believe it’s been ten – “ John and Alec both gave up at the same time, laughing a little bit. Bond watched as both men quieted down, waiting for the other to go ahead and speak. After a bit, Alec finally cracked and grabbed John in a crushing hug.

“I’m really sorry, mate. James said you were there for the whole thing. Honestly, If it had been James up on that ledge, I don’t...” Alec trailed off and looked over at Bond, still not letting John go. It wasn’t the first time Alec and Bond and shared each other’s thoughts. Bond could see it plain as day I n Alec’s face. Alec knew Bond was thinking the exact same thing as him. Had been thinking it all afternoon.

John stepped back and grabbed hold of one of Alec’s shoulders, squeezing it. “Thank you. I was —” John aborted whatever he was going to say. He made a vague gesture and looked around before continuing. “He was my best friend.” John choked on the last part and turned away, sitting back down in the chair. Instead of looking back up at Alec, he simply turned and looked out the window behind Bond’s flat screen.

Bond poured their glasses and started passing them around. When each man had a glass, he gave his a slight raise and said, “To Sherlock.”

“To Sherlock,” both Alec and John responded. As Bond went to take a drink, he could have sworn he heard John barely whisper, “I love you.” 


	17. beautifullyheeled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beautifullyheeled

John whispered words that had rarely been spoken into the flat before downing his glass; his thoughts on what could have been. Never a good place to be, especially for a soldier, even more so for one who chose to be pressed back into Her Majesty's service due solely to loss.

But here he was.

“Alright then,” he cleared his throat, placing the tumbler on the sleek side table. “What’s next?”

As the smooth burn began to loosen his tightly wound body, John wished the vodka would do something for his bruised soul. He looked expectantly at James and Alec both, the two men had come close to one another, seeking each other's proximity unknowingly. God, how often had Sherlock and he danced that dance? Always seeking the other, orbiting without realisation. At the very least these two knew how they felt; were given borrowed time to explore their relationship.  

Alec looked over at him with pitying eyes that were flinty deep within. The three of them understood this type of loss, they all just hated dealing with emotion. John had always been a bastard, but recently had begun to relax around those closest to him. The emotion from Alec was possibly an extension of just how miserable John was allowing himself to look. He knew he needed comfort desperately, but it would have to wait. War rarely allowed for succor. 

“Christ Alec, I lost my partner.” John had to nip this in the bud right now. No civie coddling. Fuck the police... Mycroft... anyone who even tried. “I’m going to kill a bunch of people. All who in my eyes deserve it if they’re a mark. That'll be my therapy alright? We don’t need a come to Jesus moment. I’m just going to be fucked for a bit.”

That had earned him a hard look, but Alec responded in kind. “If you say so John, just trying to be... supportive.”  


“Yes, thanks for that. I’m not ungrateful, just a bastard.”

Bond gave low-throated laugh before pouring them all another round.

John tipped his glass this time. “To good friends.”

His cell vibrated in his pocket. There wasn't anyone he needed to speak with anymore. In actuality, was the first time since the events of today, well yesterday now, that it had made it’s presence known. As John pulled it from his pocket, he noticed the exchanged look between James and Alec but he couldn’t be arsed to care. As he read the text from the unknown number, he could feel the colour drain out of his face as the tremor ran through his arm.

John do not mourn me.

DOH TLS

-SH

“The bastard!” John stood, setting the tumbler down before he sent it, satisfyingly so, to shatter across Bond’s floor. “That sonofabitch. How could he? Why?”

His breath came in short shallow pulls. John's skin felt as if it were tightened against his ribs. Short strides had him to the french doors and out on the balcony where he gripped to the rail as his knees finally gave.He forced the night air into his lungs, the crispness welcome. The gut-wrenching feeling of loss coupled with the knowledge that he had failed Sherlock hit him full force. No matter how many close calls that had been sutured, bandaged, healed... they meant nothing in comparison to this.

 _“Mrs Hudson... she’s been shot.”_ John closed his eyes, the scene recalled from memory; if Sherlock had taught him anything it was how to dissect a conversation. _“What? How?”_ Sherlock had answered, but he could see, now, as well as hear the very lack of shock that should have been there. Then he had stated, _“You go. I’m busy.”_   The fucking twat was using double-speak and John didn’t fucking recognise it because I was half asleep! Here I was furious at him, and he was trying to tell me... I didn’t listen.          

“Avaazi!” The Farsi curse ripped out of him. “Damn him to hell! Always had to be one step ahead, didn’t he? Wanted to prove me smart... figured I know... Fuck!” John felt like punching something, no he wanted to beat the piss out of Moriarty’s corpse. Tear his hair out, rend his limbs from his body and put his head on a sodding pike.

“Mind letting us in on the inside joke?” Alec stated humorlessly from somewhere above him. Hands were on him, at his waist helping him up and onto one of the small square leather bound ottomans on the balcony. “Here, this should be at least more comfortable then the floor if you insist on being out here.”

John handed his phone to Alec, but his sullen eyes found Bond.

“It was a lie.” He grimaced, trying to swallow his throat too dry. “We used... certain languages... cyphers, sometimes a word or words to indicate... oh, hell you know what I’m on about.” He now looked toward Alec and found him still puzzling over the odd text. “John do not mourn me... that means _I am_ to mourn him, that he’s truely gone... its the wording see? It started with a consonate just past my name.”

“What’s the DOH TLS, then?” Alec had ferocity in his eyes, a burning anger John hadn’t seen since they were encamped together.

“Anagram.” John replied simply a sad smile playing at his lips. “The first time I ever told Sherlock how I felt was in an anagram, albeit a very simple one. _‘Devout, to only he. Too lively a soul.’_

We had shortened it that incarnation... no one knew it, only he and I. The anagram, when written correctly, said _‘I loved you then, love you still’_. An allusion you see?” John finally took a stalled breath as unchecked tears ran unashamedly down his cheek. “He really is gone. He must have had a fail safe somewhere to send this if he- when one day he didn’t check in within a set time, maybe one of the homeless network?”

 


	18. stephrc79

Alec didn’t know John very well. John was more Bond’s friend – ex lover, whatever – than he was Alec’s. They had only served together for less than one tour before Alec and Bond were sent into the SBS. Hell, he hadn’t seen John since that tour. But John and Bond had stayed friends, which meant that Alec knew enough. After all, Alec was James’ best friend. Who else was he going to talk to?

So, as Alec watched John fall to pieces around them, only to rise up in righteous fury, he knew that the smartest thing he could do was to take John’s words of anguish and vengeance at face value. If John said he planned on going on a killing spree, John was damn well going on a killing spree.

Alec looked over at Bond, who was looking back with the same schooled expression currently occupying his own face. Bond gave no tells, no signs at all, that he was being anything other than a loyal friend. But Alec could see Bond’s mind working and knew exactly what he was thinking: They needed to get John to calm the fuck down before John ended up dead or in jail.

The more he watched, the more he hated that _fucking git_ for doing this to John.

It was time they got their friend under control.

“John?” Alec asked, as John continued ranting about Sherlock, not looking at either James or himself. “John!” Alec shouted this time.

At that, John finally looked up. “Are you done with your little bitch rant, yet? Look, I’m sorry you lost Sherlock, I really am. But now is not the time to be angry. Last time I checked we were trying to get blastingly drunk. Let’s save the acts of vengeance for tomorrow, shall we?”

John stared at Alec, completely nonplussed, before looking away out over the London skyline. As Alec turned to go back for the vodka, he barely had time to react before a fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling back into Bond, the two of them hitting the side railing.

“Fuck you, Alec,” John spat at him before walking into the flat. As Alec got his bearings, he watched John grab the bottle and all three glasses before heading back out and flopping down into one of the two chairs out on the balcony. He set the bottle and glasses down on the small table, poured himself a round, and slammed it back before pouring another round for all three. He picked up Alec’s glass and extended it to him.

Alec took the glass and drained the whole thing as well, before pouring himself another. “Feel better?” he asked, eyeing John warily.

John gave a hollow laugh, “Not even a little bit.” He handed Bond his glass and tipped his own in Alec’s direction. “Za vashe zdorovie.”

Alec smirked. “Za vashe zdorovie,” he responded, tipping his glass to John, taking a smaller sip.

As Alec leaned back against the railing, Bond walked around and sat down in the other chair. “John, explain something to me. First you said that you and Sherlock had just recently become lovers, but then you started railing about, calling him your partner, talking about this devout something-or-another...” Bond paused, taking a drink. “Tell me, what _exactly_ was going on between you two?”

John leaned back and closed his eyes, a small sigh escaping his lips. He didn’t immediately answer James, and Alec was starting to wonder if he would. But Bond was right to ask. If they were going to go after Moriarty, Alec wanted to know the true extent of John’s relationship with Sherlock. As it stood, John well and truly believed that Sherlock was dead. Alec and James needed to know just how deep down this rabbit hole they had to go. Alec nudged his foot against John’s calf, getting the other man to open his eyes and look at him. “John, mate. James is right. What happened between you two?”

John looked out again over the skyline, his eyes having gone a bit glassy from the alcohol. He took a deep breath and turned back to face Bond. “It’s hard to explain, really. It’s true that Sherlock and I had only recently taken things to the next level, but we had something special for a good long-while before that. If I were being completely honest with myself, I’ve probably been in love with him since practically the moment I met him, even if he was an indignant pain in the arse. He just had this quality about him that I couldn’t escape. We started heading in that direction months ago, but we only had sex recently because, well, that was Sherlock. Even though I knew he loved me, he was still resolutely asexial when it came to the rest of it. I never pushed or anything, it really wasn’t important. He actually only recently started showing interest in anything sexual. Hell, we didn’t even kiss for the first time until about a month ago.” John barked out a laugh and leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs as he slowly turned the glass in his hand. “Actually, I’ll bet it was Moriarty. The stress and excitement of this whole thing sent Sherlock through the roof and, apparently, I became the outlet for that.”

Alec didn’t know how to respond. He had never loved someone so much that he’d willingly given up his base instincts just to be with them. He’d never had to. His only two real loves in life were England and James, and he always knew he could take what he wanted – when he wanted – from either at any time. He looked down to see the bottle was almost empty, so he turned and headed inside to grab another. Having the knowledge that Sherlock was still alive, he admitted to himself with some guilt, he would do anything at this point to avoid having to look John in the eye.


	19. beautifullyheeled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beautifullyheeled
> 
> (italic sentences are Sherlock's voice in John's head)

It felt like betrayal, discussing their relationship in such base terms. So many had assumed Sherlock and he had to be engulfed in a raging sexual inferno where the likes of he and Sherlock had been concerned. Yes, Lestrade’s division unfortunately came across that pin-up calendar he had done for charity, but it had been for a good cause. Nothing more. What he and Sherlock had... it was slow to surface. Slower to take hold. John had turned pilgrim, Sherlock his promised land.

_But Sherlock had left him._

_Ignore._

So... Sexual inferno? No, not quite. Yes, he had _three continents_ under his belt, but Sherlock... Sherlock’s experiences had been so much more academic. Not that they weren’t passionate, one could never say that of Sherlock. Just... different. He'd had Victor Trevor for a few years while they were in uni together, the soul base of his exploration.

John remembered the telling fondly. Sherlock had known girls weren’t on, though he’s never met a young man either.

Even though it hadn’t clicked fully, Sherlock once told John he suspected it was because he wasn’t as enamored with Victor as he thought. First love, first experiences, all safely wrapped in a considerate lover, but missing a deeper spark. Sherlock had eventually broke it off, and Victor had been amicable about it, and that was that. 

Sherlock once admitted to being shocked at how brash and open John was, actively flirting, but in a cerebral way. It had intrigued him. Pulled him in. He could recall the first time Sherlock had touched him; he'd grabbed John's wrist. It had been to keep John from moving. Protective. John's pulse could have been attributed to the adrenaline dumped into his system, but he knew Sherlock had felt the staccato undercurrent. It had felt thready and unstable under Sherlock's fingers even to John. The bastard making John blush, his ire in short course along with it when Sherlock turned into him and graced him with a searing kiss.

_'All for the case, John. We couldn’t be seen just loitering like that...'_

“Oi, toss off!”

“John?” Bond tentatively voiced.

Now that was off... Bond was never tentative.

“Let me alone, James. I’m fine. Just drunk.” That’s all it was, the warmth blocking all other things. He could hear Sherlock even now. “That’s the point, yea?”

“John!” Bond was insistent now. “I swear to Christ, if you go over, I’m _not_ going to your funeral. Everything Sherlock sacrificed-”

“Sentiment, James! Bloody fucking sentiment!” John went from rumination to expressively pissed in seconds. “He sacrificed, yes, we’ve all sacrificed! I’m not going to follow his fucking arse until I’ve wiped out whatever it was that truely ended him! Give me some credit!”

“What you do once we’re no longer involved is your choice.” Bond looked steadily at him. “But I would prefer to not lose someone I consider a friend under this particular circumstance.”

John leaning against the rail, almost as far as he could go out safely... all it would take would be a nudge.

“James is right, come in, John. We’ve already had one body hit the pavement today, I’d not like two.”

“Alec, we are going to have a discussion about tact at some point." John was too close to a hard break. Bond wasn't going to have John do this to himself over a selfish wholly-self-serving bastard, genius or no. He did not deserve _this_. "Apparently the first one didn’t stick very well.”

Alec leaned against the frame of the open french doors, his demeanor cooled. “Well, I’ve just got off the line with a certain ‘posh git’ who has someone you’d just love to get your hands on I’m sure. You know how much he loathes fieldwork.”

“That twat can cool his heels until late this morning. I’m off to bed with this fucking bottle,” John raised the whisky, showing it had less than a quarter left. “Windows don’t open in the room right, James? I’ll see the two of you for breakfast.”


	20. stephrc79

Bond watched John head for the bedroom with a bit of mild consternation. John got drunk fast, and if he threw up in Bond’s bed, he swore to God...

He tried not to think about it as he turned back to Alec. If John lost it, he’d just get his cleaning service in here first thing. John needed a night to get pissed.

Bond waited for his bedroom door to close, listening to see if John went into the bathroom. When he heard the satisfying click of the door just past the ensuite, he turned back to Alec with a derisive laugh, speaking quietly. “You do realize that when he finds out that Sherlock is alive – and that we _knew_ – he won’t just never forgive us, he might actually try to kill us?”

Alec’s expression clouded with guilt as he turned his drink repeatedly in his hand. “The thought had crossed my mind once or twenty times.” He looked towards the door John had just retreated behind. “We need to fix this, James,” Alec said quietly, turning back to look Bond in the eye. “When I told Mycroft what was going on – just how badly John was taking this –  he was actually incredulous. I don’t give a flying fuck what John says about his relationship with that suicidal prick, I don’t think either of those two expected John to go so far off the deep end so fast.”

Bond turned away, walked over to the couch, and dropped down somewhat bonelessly. He leaned back, resting his head on the couch before closing his eyes. He let the vodka wash through him for a minute, giving himself over to the thoughtless void that the alcohol offered. This shouldn’t be his fight. He’d handed enough over to Queen and country; the last thing he needed was the emotional tie of it being one of his own. And he was right, he knew it. John would never forgive him for this. Not after what he’d seen earlier, not after tonight. The best he could hope for after this was some bastardised version of appreciation once they’d nailed Moran to the cross.

Remembering something Alec had said, Bond opened his eyes and looked up. “Who does Mycroft have?” He leaned forward to grab one of the glasses on the table that still had alcohol in it – he didn’t really give a shit whose it was. “Something about someone we’ll want to talk to?”

“He’s got the bastard who was sent to off their landlady, Mrs. Hudson. Honestly, who tries to kill an old lady?”

Bond raised his hand guiltily. “In my defense, she tried to kill me first with a sawed off 12 gauge. MY sawed off 12 gauge,” he added. When Alec continued to gape at him, Bond leaned forward pointing his drink at Alec. “Oh shut the fuck up, Alec. You shot an old man in a _wheelchair_.”

“Maybe so, but the guy was carrying a Browning Hi-Power sidearm, a Beretta Short in an ankle strap, and knives in various places around that damned chair. Pretty sure I was in the right on that one”

“So we’re even, then.”

“Seems so.”

Bond huffed a laugh at Alec before leaning back again. He turned back to look over warily at his bedroom once more. “Do we take John with us to interrogate this – does he have a name?”

“Mycroft didn’t give me one,” Alec responded.

“Right,” Bond breathed out. “Well, we might as well. After all, John said he’d gone home thinking she was hurt before coming back and finding Sherlock on the roof. Chances are he saw the guy there.”

“Oh, before I forget. Mycroft took care of that bullshit with the Chief.” Alec laughed, remembering something. “He said he’d actually wished he’d been the one to do it. Said his only regret was giving the dismissal order over the phone. He would have paid money to see the look on that prat’s face when the Chief heard that he wasn’t going to get to prosecute for getting slugged in front of his own people.”

Bond laughed into his drink. “ _I_ would have paid to see that. I ran into him once during a handoff at the Met. The guy really is a prat.”

Bond stood up to grab the last bottle out of the freezer. He and Alec weren’t going anywhere tonight. If they were going to war tomorrow, might as well follow John’s example and get drunk. Well, as drunk as to Double Os were capable of.


	21. beautifullyheeled

_Sherlock..._

“Sherlock?” He'd woken up suddenly, the tails of an all too real dream playing at the edges of his reality. He was gone... Sherlock was gone... he knew this. “Fuck.” John swore softly to the ceiling, unwilling to move just yet. It wasn’t the hangover he was worried about, that would enforce itself shortly. It was the prickly feeling of intuitiveness. He swore he could smell Sherlock’s cologne and shampoo as if he’d been laying right beside him.

_Not possible, took a gainer off the..._

The thought was interrupted as John’s digestive system decided to remind him of exactly how much he had to drink the night before. He barely made it to the bog before expelling anything that had been left from before the cloying haze had finally dragged him down last night. Passing out. How... ordinary. He was a fucking wreck. Even the ensuite smelled-

_Nonononononononononono..._

Then it hit him. He checked his watch to make certain.

“Twenty-six hours... nineteen minutes...” His lungs burned with need, the gasp sobbing from his ruined esophagus. He was rapidly descending into hysteria and needed to get a hold of himself. John sat back hard on the cool marble, dumbstruck.

_Mourning._

“Oh, God. Sherlock.” How evocative the scene would be to the man no longer there.

Broken soldier. Doctor, but no longer practicing. Recently lost his-

_Collect yourself, Watson. You’re in a warzone. Remember._

The melodic rhythmic deduction stopped mid thought. Not now. John scraped his scalp hard as he tried to think. To get his brain to work, damn it. Between he, James, and Alec, they could lay waste to entire countries without a flinch. How’d someone breech it then? None of it made sense. John, sure he’d been comatose, but James? Alec? Well unless they’d been occupied, but even still, not likely they’d miss a dead man walking into the flat and letting himself into John’s room. Not happening.

“James!” He flushed and rinsed his mouth quickly, not giving two fucks about his undressed state, and walked into the posh living area growling at the grey light that was just that much too bright for him as of yet. “Why does my... it’s bloody well not alright! Even the pillow... it’s his cologne...”


	22. stephrc79

_Bloody, buggering, fuck._

Bond looked up from the tablet he was reading, his expression neutral, as he tried not to give away that he knew exactly what John was going on about.

Sherlock was an idiot for faking his own death. Not when Bond was so keen to finish the job for him.

“What smells like his cologne?”  Bond asked, quiet and even.

“ _Everything!_ ” John’s threw his arms out, encompassing the whole room. “I can smell it on my sodding clothes, for fuck’s sake!”

Bond leaned over and set the tablet on the coffee table. His eyes flicked back to the front door where Alec had left not twenty minutes before to go on a morning run. Arshole should have taken Bond with him.

With a sigh, Bond turned back to face John fully. He shifted back, as if to make room on the couch for John, even though Bond knew he wouldn’t sit down. “John, it’s barely been a day. You’re going to notice him everywhere —”

“This isn’t some phantom fucking limb, Bond. I _know_ that smell —”

“I did with Vesper,” Bond cut in. John stopped short, something between indignation and horror coloring his face. Bond instantly felt guilty. It was a low blow, especially when Bond knew Vesper was dead, but knew Sherlock... wasn’t.

Still, though. If it wouldn’t have caused the sort of scene that would have had John waking up to a lot of questions he need not be asking just yet, Bond would have decked Sherlock for sneaking into his bedroom the night before, where John was sleeping. For being a genius, Sherlock was a colossal moron — one that Mycroft and M would be hearing about. Sherlock was _supposed_ to be on a mission. The level of unprofessionalism he’d displayed in his first 24-hours alone didn’t bode well for the entire operation. Might as well hand Moran the keys to the treasury now. If this was how Sherlock was going to behave...

John circled the couch slowly and sat down, his eyes never leaving Bond. He opened his mouth, a look of retort on his face, before snapping shut. He made a few more aborted attempts to respond before finally falling back against the edge of the couch with a resigned sigh.

When he finally did speak, it was a lot softer than Bond was expecting to hear. “What did you do?” John looked out the french doors behind Bond’s television. “I mean... How did you — how were you able —” He should his head and looked back at Bond. “What kept you from following her into the water?”


	23. beautifullyheeled

Bond stilled at the question. “Who told you I didn’t.”

“Oh.” John looked at Bond, really looked. He looked about as stricken as you would assume a Double O would look after a revelation like that. No different really, except something... maybe a bit of anger? Grief? “To save her, then?”

He already knew the answer though.

John stifled the thought of self destruction in favor of vengeance.

“The path you are going down...” Bond sipped at his coffee then continued on. “Being reinstated, it’s not one you’ll come back from. No retiring from this post. It’ll most likely be ugly, John. You want to burn the world down? Alec will bring the fucking marshmallows.”

“And you?” John hated to ask; hated the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“I’m always ready for a good ghost story. I’ll be there as much as I can be. I’m active. Called up this morning.”

Hell, could it be about all of this bloody mess? Mycroft was expecting them. Soon probably. He stood and raked his fingernails along his scalp. Wash. Dress. Go to the office for a little visit. John was agitated, he knew it. Could feel the sickly itch run just under his skin.

“I. James-” John leaned against the counter. At least he had made it that far, he thought to himself as he sagged against it. “God, what I wouldn’t give for it to be a week from now and hip deep in shit enough to not _think_. That’s one of the things I had with him, you know? Life always on the line in one way or another. Was never boring.”

“Go get showered.” Bond broke into John’s thoughts with something that sounded suspiciously like an order. “Clothes are in the wardrobe.”

He had to look like hell warmed over, especially for Bond to be goading him. “Yea, fine. Sure. The special hell that is sure to be debriefing, field duty readiness evaluations... going to be a busy day.” He straightened back up and settled his shoulders. “Be out in fifteen.”

John showered efficiently even with the mild hangover he was certain he had. He took a quick assessment of himself as the hot water pounded against his back. Physically, he had a few scrapes that would heal quickly. Emotionally, he knew he was bloody well fucked. He was hearing Sherlock in his head. Began the moment he opened his eyes, the scent of _home_ , of _him_ lingering in a room that it had no right to be in.

Was he being haunted? Sherlock trying, like Houdini, to reach beyond the veil to tell him he was waiting?

If he was, if this wasn’t some barminess, John hoped he’d be there when this was all over.

_‘It says here RC, John. I had no idea you were religious.’_

_‘I’m not. Parents were. Why do you-’_

_‘Angels? Afterlife? How can you believe in any of it? You are a doctor-’_

_‘I’ve seen some miraculous things, Sherlock. Was raised in it does not equate to practicing it as an adult. Sometimes you just... need something to believe in.’_

“I believe in you, Sherlock.”


	24. stephrc79

Bond was bored. _So_ bored.

He sat back at his desk, feet propped up, as he idly tapped a pen against the edge of his computer keyboard. There was field report document open on the screen, but he’d stopped really looking at it a good two hours beforehand, and now the words just bled together, no real coherence to what anything actually said on the screen.

His boredom was quickly approaching lethal levels, but whether that was to be suicide or homicide, he wasn’t sure yet. All he knew was that if he had to sit in his office any longer, some sort of ‘incident’ would be occurring before day’s end.

When he and John had arrived at MI6 that morning, it was just in time for him to receive a text from Alec that simply said, _France. Pick up. Back in 7._ Bond had cringed internally. He was to be stuck at MI6 all day, as John was debriefed, and he’d hoped to spend it with Alec at the range. He’d have gone without Alec, but the armoury had just got its hands on the new AK-74M assault rifle out of Russia, and there was no way he’d have been able to spend all day at the range without getting his hands on it — something Alec had _expressly_ forbidden with a follow-up text: _No playing without me!_

So he’d come up to their shared office to get through his backlog of paperwork, but it had taken all of two completed mission reports to realise the next _five_ he couldn’t complete without Alec, since they’d been joint covert ops. M hated the two of them trolling the halls of MI6 together, but there was no denying that Bond and Alec were the best MI6 had, especially when sent out as a team.

So now he was bored. John was in interrogations and testing that Bond wasn’t allowed to attend, he wasn’t allowed in Q Branch unsupervised anymore (Alec didn’t count), he was blocked on his paperwork, and he was on a self-imposed ban from the firing range. There had to be _something_ he could do around this sodding office.

Bond dropped his feet off his desk and began rummaging through the drawers. He’d stolen Alec’s throwing knives recently and had stashed them somewhere in his desk. When he felt his fingers wrap around soft leather, a tiny smile curled around his lips in triumph. He pulled out the pouch, then pushed his chair back to get a good distance from the target he and Alec had placed on the opposite wall.

He pulled out the first knife and took aim. With a flick of his wrist, the knife sailed cleanly through the air, and embedded itself in the wall just left of the bulls eye.

With a huff, he said, “I can do better than that,” and pulled out three more knives.

Ten minutes, and a fairly shredded paper target later, another knife was wall-bound when the office door flew open with a bang. Bond had a knife out and through the air, where it embedded in the door with a slight _twang!_ , before he’d even registered Alec standing in the doorway.

Alec looked at the knife before turning back to Bond, aghast with just a hint of betrayal in his eyes. “That was almost my head!”

Bond shrugged, unfazed. “Not my fault you can’t open doors properly.”

“That” — Alec pointed at the knife — “could have been” — he pointed back at himself — “ _my head!”_

“Teach you to knock before entering, won’t it?” Bond laughed as Alec pulled the knife out of the door and threw it in Bond’s direction, the air tickling his cheek as it rushed past his head, hitting the wall behind him. He leaned back in his chair, without a hint of wariness. “You know, if I actually thought you were trying to kill me, it would have been with a stolen gun, numbers erased, at point-blank range.” He pointed a knife at Alec. “That was the deal.”

Alec smirked and finally entering the office. He shut the door and walking over to his own desk, where he flopped down in his chair. “Not kill, mate. Maim.” He tilted his head to the side, seemingly assessing Bond. “It would be a vast improvement over the way those ears of yours stick out.”

Bond smirked. “Fuck you.”

“Not my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type.”

Alec reached over and snatched the leather pouch off Bond’s lap. He leaned back and took out one of the knives, inspecting the blade. “That was one time. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Bond laughed a touch loudly. Alec was back, and he already felt loads better. With a sigh, he turned to his computer and shut it down. There was no fucking way he and Alec would be doing _paperwork_ when shiny new guns were awaiting them ten floors down.

With a smile, he turned back to Alec. “Shooting range?”

“God, yes.” Alec threw the pouch and the knife he was holding onto his desk, then stood up. “That mission was a sodding waste of a Double O’s time. I didn’t even get to draw my gun _once_ ,” he whined.

Bond stood up and followed Alec to the door. “There, there,” he said with a light pat on Alec’s shoulder. “But at least you weren’t stuck here staring at your computer for _seven bloody hours_.”

“You could have gone to the range,” Alec offered. He opened the door and turned back to stare at Bond, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

Bond levelled his gaze at Alec. “No,” he said flatly. “I couldn’t.”

“Not my fault you have no self-control.”

“Arsehole.” Bond gave Alec a light shove. “I have self-control,” he muttered.

Alec snorted, and made to walk out the door, but Bond put a hand up to stop him. “When we get down there, we need to talk about John.”

“Is there something new I should know?” Alec asked, his eyebrows pulled in confusion.

Bond took a deep breath before answering. “John was paid a visit from the dead last night.”

“Wait, does John —”

“No.” Bond shook his head, then hesitated. “Not exactly.”

Alec put his hand on the door jam and turned to face Bond properly. “What do you _mean_ ‘not exactly’?

“He could smell Sherlock’s cologne.” Alec opened his mouth to respond, but Bond waved a hand to cut him off. “He knew it was more than just a scent lingering on his own clothes.”

Alec huffed. “Buggering fuck.”

“Exactly,” Bond responded. “But let’s continue this conversation someplace a little less _nosey_ , shall we?”

He pushed Alec out the door and locked up behind them. He wanted to get Alec down to the range to continue this conversation. Where their office was under constant surveillance, several of the ranges could be blacked out. Black-outs were supposed to be Q Branch-sanctioned, but Bond knew how to bypass those protocols.

M and Mycroft might have known Sherlock was still alive — and Bond fully intended to inform them about Sherlock’s little visit — but not until after he and Alec talked about it. Nothing got done that they didn’t do together.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come play with us on tumblr at [beautifullyheeled](http://www.beautifullyheeled.tumblr.com/) and [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/).
> 
> We promise we don't bite. Well, not unless you ask nicely.


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